


hold me close

by queerly_yours



Series: tumblr prompt fills [49]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_yours/pseuds/queerly_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why do you even put up with me?” Stiles mumbles, half-drunk on pain pills.</p>
<p>He hadn’t even hurt himself fighting the supernatural. He’d simply tripped over his lacrosse stick – the lacrosse stick that hadn’t been used since high school - that was leaning on the wall and tumbled down the stairs because he was distracted texting Boyd, who took off running the moment he heard Stiles fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold me close

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: I'm so happy I'm following someone who loves stoyd <3 Can I submit a stoyd prompt with hurt/comfort? (I just love the idea of Boyd tugging Stiles onto his lap for a cuddle)

“Why do you even put up with me?” Stiles mumbles, half-drunk on pain pills.

He hadn’t even hurt himself fighting the supernatural. He’d simply tripped over his lacrosse stick – the lacrosse stick that hadn’t been used since high school - that was leaning on the wall and tumbled down the stairs because he was distracted texting Boyd, who took off running the moment he heard Stiles fall. He got there in 5 minutes flat to find Stiles in a heap on the kitchen floor, completely out of it, eyes unfocused, but conscious. Melissa checked him out and declared him fine and concussion free, but she gave them some pain pills for the bruised ribs and goose egg on his forehead.

Boyd sighs, finishes pouring Stiles a ginger ale – to help with the nausea – into his favorite Marvel tumbler and shakes his head, more at himself than anything.  _He’s_  the reason that Stiles is here in the first place. He walks into their cluttered living room to find Stiles curled in on himself on the worn leather couch, arms wrapped around his middle, face mostly buried in Boyd’s pillow. It was adorable the way he’d  _insisted_  that he needed Boyd’s pillow, not his own, eyes bright and hazy at the same time.

“Stiles,” he says, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “Here’s your drink.” He holds the cup in front of Stiles’ face, straw facing him. Stiles opens the one eye that is visible and squints at him, then pouts.

“No,” he whines, reaching out one arm in an attempt to grab Boyd and pull him in, but even if he were in complete control of his limbs, he wouldn’t be able to move Boyd if he didn’t want to be moved, so he settles his hand on Boyd’s thigh instead, patting softly. He licks his lips, a gesture that Boyd supposes is supposed to entice him, but in this state, he just looks like an adorably sleepy puppy. “Come here.”

Boyd grins and huffs out a breath. “Weren’t you just complaining about your stomach like five minutes ago?”

Stiles groans. “’s fine now. Come cuddles me,” he demands, pinching Boyd’s thigh.

“Fine,” Boyd sighs, setting the cup aside, but close enough that he can reach it when Stiles asks for it again because he  _knows_  that he will. He pulls his jacket off, drapes is over the back of the chair opposite the couch, kicks off his Docs. Instead of slipping in behind Stiles, he slides his hands under his limp form and lifts him up in a bridal carry, settles onto the couch with Stiles in his lap.

It’s a testament to the fall and the meds that Stiles doesn’t bother to complain as he usually would, though he does roll his eyes fondly at Boyd as he snuggles in close. With his free hand, Boyd grabs the blanket Kira gave them as a house warming gift off the back of the couch and lays it over Stiles curled up legs. He rubs his hands up and down Sties’ back in soothing circles, hears Stiles breathing getting slower and slower with each passing moment.

Boyd lets out a long breath, feels a calmness settle over him that only this kind of closeness can give him. When Stiles fell and he heard the groans and thumping as his lean body slammed into each step of the stairs, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest, all air escape his lungs, the instinct, the drive, the  _need_  to protect overwhelmed him so much that he couldn’t think straight.

He kisses Stiles’ forehead, rubs his cheek on Stiles’ hair. “I put up with you because I’m in love with you, you infuriating, adorable, amazing idiot.” Boyd feels Stiles’ lips tug into a smile against the column of his throat.

“You’re the idiot,” Stiles mumbles, presses a kiss at his pulse point.

Boyd smiles softly, pulls him closer against his chest. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I am.”


End file.
